A New Story

I have decided to make an new story, and here it is (the beginning at least):

­The street of Willow Drive would have never called weird or different in anyway. Nothing unusual ever happened there. Furthermore, one would go as far as say that nothing ever happened there. A single black lane ran through the center of the street.

White houses decorated the street from side to side, as far as the eye can see. They were the same- large and white square blocks, which rose fifteen feet from the ground. Two widows, like eyes, hung on either side of the brown, hazel wood, door. The front lawn, too, was identical in all houses: the grass cut to an exact measure of one inch and three quarters, a garden of roses, petals sweet and soft, lips of beauty from which crystal-like tears dangled. To the left, a perfectly trimmed tree which would greet all those who entered though the lame, pale stone walkway.

Liam, an average boy by any standard; five feet three inches, hair as dark as the night, rose colored cheeks on which a population of freckles lived. However, if one was took recall anything about the boy, the first image to spring forward would be- his eyes. His family describes them a beautiful, and a gift from above. However, those who have met him say otherwise. These have described them as, dark an infinite but at the same time soft and soothing. Other terms used: peaceful, inert as if unfocused yet concentrated. Those that have seen them closely state that they have seen the devil looking back at them. True or not, that is up to you to decide, but one thing remains a fact- those eyes… are not normal.

The boy sat on the soft cushions by his window. The day was no more normal than any other of the week. The young boy, deeply impressed in his book, took no notice, or at least did not show interest, in what was going on through his window. Outside the rain poured hard, like millions of minute bombs plunging earthwards from the heavens.

The book lay open on his lap, a think, brown book that seemed to have been accumulating dust on a shelf for ages. Its spine, rigged and dark, was the only part of the object that seemed to have had no use. Its spoiled, tanned cover, that held no words, had an air of mystic around it. The same feeling that had led Liam into picking up the book in the first place.

Now, he was sitting down on his chair. His body was hovering over the stained pages. The moony green eyes flew franticly from side to side, absorbing all the details he could. As his interest in the story so did the motion of his eyes, this proceeded over the course of a few minutes. Eventually, Liam’s eyes looked like so no more; they were green blurs. The pages of the book flipped wildly as the blurs scanned them attempting to extract every inch of information possible. His eyes were soon emitting a fait green glow as they moved, and so did the book. Liam did not need to flip the pages any more. Once the pages were completely submerged in the green glow they moved by their selves, moving violently in a fan-like motion. Momentarily, Liam too was concealed in a layer of emerald light. His blood rapidly flowed to his brain. His limb muscles tensed. He bit down on his lower lip. The light seemed to way down on him, the pressure was immense. He felt like he was going to explode.